Localized History Project – Student Reflections (Summer 2024)

         The Asian American, Native Hawaiian, and Pacific Islander (AANHPI) community is the fastest growing racial group in the United States.¹ Encompassing nearly 25 million people,² over 100 languages spoken and 50 distinct ethnic groups,³ it is clear the AANHPI diaspora is extremely diverse, holding a wide range of experiences and identities. Despite our growing presence and long history in America, representation of AANHPI curricula in K-12 schools is largely missing. In 2021, Illinois became the first state to mandate AAPI studies.⁴ Currently, only eleven states require public schools to teach Asian American history.⁵ Even with these achievements, questions persist about which aspects of AANHPI history are included and how they are presented. 

         As AANHPI students in New York State public schools, we often grapple with feelings of disappointment, isolation, and exclusion, particularly in our history classrooms. Many of us have faced bullying and stereotyping due to the underrepresentation and misrepresentation of our community. Additionally, the violence impacting our families—such as the rise in Islamophobia post-9/11 and anti-Asian sentiment during the COVID-19 pandemic—drives us to take action. Our shared experiences have motivated us to join the Youth Action Board (YAB), where we strive to create tangible change in New York State’s education system by incorporating AANHPI history into K-12 curricula. Facilitated by the City University of New York’s Asian American / Asian Research Institute (AAARI-CUNY), and funded by the Coalition for Asian American Children + Families (CACF), our board consists of AANHPI high school students dedicated to bridging gaps in AANHPI history education through research and advocacy. The Youth Action Board provides us with a platform to share our stories, deepen our understanding of our identities, educate others, and advocate for the issues we care about. We believe that education is key to combating harmful stereotypes and misinformation while fostering greater understanding among students of all backgrounds. By focusing on geographical and conceptual local histories, we uplift AANHPI histories through the work and lens of AANHPI students. 

         The Localized History Project is a resource for educators, students, and anyone interested in incorporating AANHPI history and perspectives into curricula, with a specific focus on New York State. History classrooms should inspire students to reflect on the world around them and empower them to rise to the occasion when faced with injustice. An inclusive and accurate curriculum not only reflects the diverse experiences within the AANHPI community but also highlights the interconnectedness of our struggles with other marginalized groups. We seek to counteract harmful narratives by promoting a curriculum that fosters solidarity, emphasizes the need for cross-community support, and challenges divisive misconceptions that pit our community against other marginalized groups. Nuanced and accurate portrayals are critical in the acknowledgment of contributions the AANHPI community continues to make to America, and promoting a deeper understanding of who the AANHPI diaspora is both as a collective and our unique backgrounds. By integrating AANHPI history into New York State’s K-12 education, our curriculum aims to lay the foundation for a better future and cultivate informed leaders. 

         In the following pages, you will read individual testimonies from us as the members of the Youth Action Board. The five of us want the Youth Action Board to grow and reach more AANHPI students across New York State. Moreover, we understand that the fight for inclusive curricula does not just stop when the AANHPI community gains it, but when all marginalized peoples do. We hope our research and advocacy will leave a lasting impact, ensuring that AANHPI histories, and marginalized histories all around, are recognized and celebrated in educational spaces across New York State and beyond.

AMY FENG, 17 

         My name is Amy Feng and I’m a current rising senior at a public high school located in the suburbs of New York and I’d like to share my experience and journey. When I was growing up, I faced a lot of negative microaggressions and stereotyping, although at the time I often didn’t realize it. My own peers would ask me stumping questions, such as if I “ate dogs” or where I was “really born.” I was always often left confused and isolated, unsure of how to respond or what to say. The older generation before me had the mentality of letting these kinds of things go, to keep your head low and accept it. To remain silent. So for quite a few years, I didn’t really have a voice when it came to advocating for myself. 

         When entering high school, I had an experience with an adult that brought me back to the same exact way I felt as a kindergartener when my classmates would sing “Chinese, Japanese, Korean!” while playing with their eyes. As I reflected on these experiences, I realized something. Did my five year old classmates have malicious intent to hurt me? No. Did they know what they were doing was wrong? No. Were they corrected? Maybe, but it didn’t seem to stick for long. It wasn’t hatred in their hearts, but simple ignorance. In fact, the same could be said for the majority of my negative experiences: they just weren’t educated on the topic. 

         This spark and revelation inspired me to be someone who could help change this so that the next generation of Asian Americans wouldn’t have to feel the way I did growing up: isolated and uncomfortable. For these reasons, I joined the Youth Action Board and strived to make change. What better way to do so than to target the root issue? The educational system and its curriculum. 

         In reflection of my K-12 education, now a rising senior, it doesn’t seem as though there’s much representation of Asian Americans at all. In 8th grade, my school district briefly touched on how Chinese Americans worked on the transcontinental railroads, but we didn’t delve very deeply into the impacts that it had on the economy and society, nor did we give justice to the suffering that those Chinese immigrants had to face. If people were taught that stereotypes such as Asian women are prostitutes or that Asians are dirty arose during this period because the government wanted to keep Asians out and America “pure” (white), perhaps there wouldn’t have been such a jump in Asian American hate during COVID-19. In 9th, 10th, and 11th grade, there was a little sprinkle here and there of Asian American history. Much of what was learned was Asian history (such as the Chinese Dynasty or Meiji Restoration of Japan), but very little covered

         Asian American history. It’s important to note the distinction between the two. If all kids learn about Asians in Asia, will they ever be able to see Asians as Americans or will the idea of perpetual foreigners continue? One major event, the Japanese American Incarceration Camps, were covered for a few days each year, which isn’t nearly enough to unpack the implications of it. The United States restricted the Constitutional rights of around 120,000 Americans because of what, spy allegations? 

         There is so much history that needs to be taught and covered at a deep depth in order to end the negative stereotyping we see today. To fight discrimination, it starts at changing and improving the educational system. At the Youth Action Board, that’s exactly what we were able to do. Working alongside both incredible and knowledgeable adults, as well as ambitious, passionate, and driven peers, I was able to create a lesson plan to be implemented into high schools that explores the Japanese American Incarceration Camps deeply and leaves very few stones unturned. It first covers the history and context of anti-Asian sentiments, before showing how it led to the events of incarceration after Pearl Harbor. From there, it studies the impact and implication of the camps on the Japanese American survivors. Overall, it’s a comprehensive and in-depth lesson that could make the difference we wish to see in schools. 

         The research process wasn’t easy. There is so much that I learned through studying into these camps and much of it shocked me. Did you know that after America established the camps, Mexico and Canada created their own Japanese Incarceration Camps? In fact, some of what I learned was very heartbreaking and hard to swallow. I watched interviews with survivors who still had so much raw emotion in their voices. I saw cruel pictures and could only wonder how we were able to treat other human beings in such a way. I kept asking myself, “how had none of this been taught in school?” but all of this served to fuel me. I wanted to keep improving the guide, to keep learning, and to keep sharing the information, because if it wasn’t going to be taught by someone else, then I was going to step up and teach it. 

         I believe that the survivors need justice and only through education and advocacy can this happen. My groupmates believed this too and were with me every step of the way. Being incredibly talented and driven peers, they had the same fire fueling their hearts. I know all three of us are very proud of what we were able to accomplish and create (special thanks to Kaya and Ashley). My advisor was also with me every step, teaching quick historical snapshots, offering office hours and times to check-in, and overall being a patient, guiding, and knowledgeable figure (special thanks to Dr. Pan). I developed many hard skills during my time at the Youth Action Board, such as how to conduct qualitative and quantitative research. But beyond academia, another part of the Youth Action Board I’ll forever be grateful for was the community and culture. I built friendships and life-long bonds with my peers and fellow board members. Here we were, all tied together by a collective goal and desire to make our communities a little bit better, each and every day. I had conversations I wasn’t able to have anywhere else, and felt seen. These peers had gone through what I had gone through, and while each experience was unique, it drew us all in a little closer. It’s comforting knowing you aren’t fighting a battle alone, and seeing so many young peers step up and voice out their beliefs and thoughts made me feel even more empowered. I opened up a lot and overcame insecurities and fears. I learned a lot about my own identity and who I wanted to be. The Youth Action Board gave me a safe space to talk about myself, and not once did I feel judged. I also had the chance to practice empathy and collaborate and communicate with peers and adults alike, an experience I rarely get anywhere else. 

         I now had a space to be vulnerable and supported. 

         Undeniably, I had an overwhelmingly positive experience at the Youth Action Board, learning an unbelievable amount and creating a beautiful final project that I know is going to be put to good use. I love the program and look forward to continuing this work in the years to come. Change isn’t easy, but it can be done. 

JESSICA ONG, 17 

         Since my involvement with the Youth Action Board of the Asian American / Asian Research Institute at CUNY, I’ve experienced significant personal growth. This program has connected me with like-minded individuals who are passionate about understanding the Asian American, Native Hawaiian, and Pacific Islander (AANHPI) experience and shaping the way we experience education in New York State. While I’ve always been casually interested in advocating for change, I never knew how to begin. YAB made it accessible for me to make a tangible difference and leverage the youth’s voice to impact real change. 

         My name is Jessica Ong, and I’m a 17-year-old high school student attending a high school in Long Island. I am of Chinese/Malaysian descent. I joined YAB in January 2024, initially as a participant in the Metro/Long Island Youth Action Board. However, as the project was new, there was an opportunity for quick growth, and I was promoted to board leader, taking on new responsibilities and leadership roles. Diana and Shreya, our mentors, were incredibly supportive, ensuring that the program was manageable alongside our other commitments. We had two-hour monthly meetings for six months, and with my additional leadership role, we met bi-weekly to plan the next meeting’s agenda. 

         Words cannot fully express how grateful I am to have come across YAB. It was the perfect opportunity tailored to my schedule as a high school student, and it addressed the nuances that were often overlooked in my everyday Long Island hometown, where the Asian American network is more disconnected. Microaggressions, even from my friends—many of whom were people of color—became so normalized that I felt isolated, lacking a community of like-minded peers to relate to. I couldn’t openly discuss these issues or call out the casual “jokes” because I was in the minority, and speaking up could have led to being socially ostracized. Dying my hair blonde, as a subconscious attempt to fit in and appear more “white-passing,”. Now, when I ask my friends if I should keep it blonde or return to black, I wonder: Is it because they think blonde suits me better, or because black hair makes me look more Asian? 

         These complex issues were challenging to discuss with my parents, who were raised to believe that letting things slide was key to succeeding in a predominantly white society. When a classmate ding-dong-ditched our house, my mom wanted to call the cops, but my dad refused, knowing that the authorities wouldn’t do anything. Even more difficult was the time when I was 15, walking home with a friend, and a group of 10-15 boys from my school sat on my street, yelling slurs like “chink” and “small-eyed Asian,” pulling their eyes back mockingly. I never told my parents about that incident because I didn’t have the heart to let them know that the town they worked so hard to move us to wasn’t as safe or welcoming as they had hoped. 

         YAB connected me with other AANHPI teenagers who were equally motivated to make a difference. One of the most impactful experiences was discussing our firsthand experiences as Asian American students in New York State classrooms. My peers and I shared stories of racism and microaggressions we faced growing up, highlighting the similarities and differences in our experiences across the state. These were conversations I would have never encountered in my daily routine. Another memorable moment was during our June celebration meeting, where a fellow participant, Clarissa, gave a fascinating presentation on Latin Asian restaurants in New York City. This led to a discussion about the large waves of Asian immigration from China to

         South America in the late 1900s. It was then that I realized my family’s history—having relatives in Panama—was part of a larger pattern, not just a coincidence. This sparked a deep interest in researching my family history and engaging in conversations with my peers, where I discovered that one of my friends also had family in Panama. 

YAB also provided an introduction to qualitative research, which I loved. Shreya and Diana were patient and thorough in teaching us the ethical complexities and proper methodologies of research, helping me understand the importance of conducting research responsibly.

         Throughout my time in YAB, I found it to be a symbiotic relationship. As students, we connected with our peers while contributing to our community and making impactful changes. Even in small ways, we as youth know how to leverage our networks, sharing the survey we created with family, friends, school clubs, and various Instagram accounts for organizations like Dear Asian Youth Chapters and Chinatown Youth Initiatives. In fact, as an event coordinator for Chinatown Beautification Day, I was able to promote the survey and YAB opportunity to like-minded AANHPI high school students during the event. 

         As YAB continues to expand to new locations across New York State, I look forward to hearing the experiences of AANHPI students in less urban areas, such as Utica—where we’ve had some challenges connecting with the youth. Being a new program, everyone is still finding their footing and figuring out the next steps together. I believe that as the program becomes more established, it will become even more organized and effective. I’m excited to grow alongside this Youth Action Board and continue contributing to our shared mission of making a difference in the AANHPI community. 

ANGELINA NGUYEN, 17 

         My name is Angelina Nguyen, and I attended a High School in Midtown Manhattan. I graduated this past June and will be attending college in the fall. I am the daughter of a Vietnamese refugee. She resents her country for the way it exiled her during the war, and now praises the land that forces her to live on government assistance and food stamps. My mother proudly identifies as American, emphasizing nothing of her homeland or Asian heritage, because she believes it’s the place that saved her. As someone who identifies strongly as Asian American, it’s strange to hear her say she is just American. My mother refused to allow us to identify as

         Vietnamese because she never directly benefited from being Vietnamese, in her eyes this has only harmed her. Her cultural and ethnic background was used against her to oppress her both in her homeland and in the new country she immigrated to. But growing up in the South Bronx, I always felt disconnected as one of the few Asian families growing up in a predominately Black and Hispanic neighborhood, where my “Asianness” was what was most visible–not my “Americanness.” 

         As I got older, I realized the weight of my identity and what it meant to be an Asian American living in the South Bronx–the affiliations and preconceived notions people made about me. Because the South Bronx is so multicultural, I felt willing and hungry to identify as Vietnamese so that I found a space of cultural belonging. Everyone around me has solidarity, everyone is connected through their racial, ethnic or cultural identity, while I was being told to set mine aside. I never wanted to assimilate to whiteness or fit into someone else’s shoes, I just wanted to feel included and sound in my identity just like everyone else around me was. 

         YAB’s mission, and goals spoke to me, it connected with me and my longing for self-education. My primary and secondary education failed to teach me about my history just like my mom, but looking at YAB, I felt hope for the first time. I connected with others who came from vastly different backgrounds than I, but everyone had the same craving for change and education as I did. We all came in hoping to make a difference, wanting to educate not only ourselves, but reteach others about their own education. I fell in love with the idea and action of learning throughout my schooling, and I wanted others to experience that without lacking the representation and education they desired. Everyone at YAB was so passionate about change and seeing themselves represented, we all wanted our history to be taught. I’ve learned a saying over the years, “Take space, make space.” I felt that YAB really embodied this, and over the time that I’ve worked with them, I’ve found a community, I’ve found solidarity and belonging somewhere. My younger self would thank me for joining YAB and being able to find people who can relate to me and my identity, sharing stories and experiences. 

JIA-XIU (SIRI) ROSENBERG, 15 

         My name is Siri Rosenberg and I am a Junior at Hastings High school. Growing up as a mixed-race kid, I have always felt “other.” My mom is Chinese (from Taiwan), and my dad is white. My mom moved to the US from Taiwan when she was seven. Most of her family still

         lives there today. Attending school in a primarily white school district, I’ve always been unsure of where I belong. I’ve always felt too white to be Asian and too Asian to be white—essentially trapped in an awkward limbo of belonging. I could never tell as a kid what race I was “supposed to” or “needed to” identify as. I never felt truly either. As a kid, I felt like I was supposed to identify as one race. I couldn’t be both. I had to pick one or the other. 

         At home, I was Chinese, and I knew the culture, the traditions, and even some of the language. But in Taiwan, none of that compared; little kids would stare at me as I walked past, and adults would do their best not to. I started to feel more white in primarily Asian settings and more Asian in mainly white settings, but I never felt truly either. To compensate for not feeling Asian enough, I started reading books. To me, books were a place to get lost. From an early age, I loved the book Ruby’s Wish, and seeing traditions I celebrated with “real” Asians made me feel more Asian. I read Ronald Takakis’s A Different Mirror many times and tried to find that sense of belonging.

         In first grade, two kids pulled their eyelids back in front of me mockingly. I’m conscious they probably didn’t know better and weren’t acting out of malintent. But back then, it just made me feel confused. Was I really that different?

         Over the years through school, I have learned a little bit about Chinese, Japanese, and Indian people but never as Americans, just as Asians. Multiple times in history class, we would talk about China for half a class before moving on to a new topic. We talked about China and Japan in the context of WW2 and briefly discussed Gandhi, but that was about it.

         After hearing about the YAB project in late 2023, I was eager to join. I was given this incredible opportunity to advocate for meaningful change in our public school curriculums. I had always noticed the need for AANHPI history to be taught and represented in schools. I never saw book characters or teachers that looked like me. I didn’t even see many peers that looked like me.

         Being a part of both YAB and getting promoted to one of the group leaders has helped me find a more profound sense of belonging. It’s allowed me to feel more connected to my Asian roots by advocating for them— something which I always wanted to be able to do. Being a part of this group has been genuinely incredible; I’ve gotten to meet so many like-minded AANHPI individuals who have had experiences similar to mine, both good and bad.

         I am excited to continue working with YAB to spark positive change in our curriculums. I hope for a future in which education includes more AANHPI experiences and shows AANHPI history as American history. I’m so grateful to our program leaders, Diana and Shreya, for everything they have done to help and encourage me to advocate for meaningful change. I’m so thankful to my group mates (Ella and Kieran) on the elementary education project for pushing me to keep supporting and working hard to make our voices heard. I’m so grateful for the friendships and connections I’ve made with AANHPI teens like me all across NYS. Finding the YAB was a life-changing experience. I cannot wait to see what my future with YAB and AANHPI advocacy holds.

CLARISSA KUNIZAKI, 16

         My name is Clarissa Kunizaki, and I am a sixteen-year-old high school junior with Chinese-Ecuadorian, Japanese, and Irish heritage. In addition to my cultural identity, I have an Indo-Caribbean stepparent and am the oldest sister to three Indo-Caribbean siblings. Embracing my identity has been a deeply personal and complex journey. Growing up between Jackson Heights and Manhattan, my hour-long commutes on the Seven Train symbolized what sometimes felt like a transnational identity, marked by stark demographic contrasts between my neighborhoods and schools. While I have been incredibly grateful to be part of a vibrant Asian American and Latino community in Queens, the elementary and middle schools I attended in Manhattan were predominantly white. In these schools, I began to confront and understand issues of race and identity.

         One of my earliest memories of “realizing” I was Asian American occurred in the first grade when a classmate told me a joke that I didn’t fully understand at the time; “How do Chinese parents name their kids? By throwing pots and pans down the stairs and naming them after the sounds! Ching chang, chong ching.” This moment has stuck with me, particularly because of the look of disappointment and sadness on my father’s face when I went home and repeated it. He didn’t speak to me for the rest of the night because, like many Asian parents, I don’t think he knew how to address the racial trauma we were beginning to share. At that age, I thought the joke was funny, not grasping the underlying racism. However, I became acutely aware of my difference as an Asian American because I was the only person my classmate chose to tell the joke to. From then on, I often felt out of place, as if there was something that set me apart from the other White children that I couldn’t change, even if I wanted to.

         Just as many people find my cultural background confusing because it does not fit the stereotypical notion of what being “Asian” is, I also struggle to categorize my experiences with Asian American, Native Hawaiian, and Pacific Islander (AANHPI) curricula as fitting solely into one category. Alongside the microaggressions I continued to face, my feelings of not belonging were due to the fact that most of my peers and teachers didn’t share my racial or ethnic background. Because of this, seeing my communities represented in the history curriculum was especially important for making me feel like I belonged. In second and third grade, class trips to Chinatown, Ellis Island, and the Eldridge Street Synagogue, focusing on immigration history, were particularly meaningful. Sharing my family’s tradition of getting dim sum on Sunday mornings with my classmates during our Chinatown visit fostered a deep sense of pride and connection to New York City’s culture and history. Similarly, other classroom activities also contributed to my identity formation. In fourth grade, my teacher, a Korean-American woman, taught us how to play gonggi—Korean jacks—and shared her family history. I vividly remember the shocked faces of my peers and I when she recounted how her grandmother escaped North Korea while pregnant, despite being shot in the leg as she escaped to the South Korean border. In sixth grade, my English teacher had us write essays and held class discussions on It Ain’t So Awful, Falafel by Firoozeh Dumas, a book about an Iranian-American girl navigating her identity in the midst of anti-Iranian sentiment during the Iran Hostage Crisis. These inclusive and culturally relevant curricula, even when not directly related to my background, helped me feel more connected and validated in my AANHPI identity.

         When I first started attending the largest high school in America two years ago, where nearly three out of every five students identify as AANHPI, I expected to see strong inclusion of AANHPI history. However, despite learning about complex cultural dynamics within AANHPI communities from my peers—such as the lasting effects of colonialism on South Asian communities, especially the tensions between Bangladeshis and Pakistanis—our history classes have still lacked proper representation and sensitivity. For example, when covering historical content like the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombings, it is not unheard of for teachers to facilitate “debates” on the “pros and cons” of these events. Allowing students to argue in favor of the nuclear bombings of Japanese civilians can send a concerning message, suggesting that AANHPI lives are disposable for political arguments. Approaches like these also deny nuanced discussions on events that have caused significant trauma to marginalized and AANHPI communities. In contrast, a memorable experience in my tenth-grade chemistry class occurred during our unit on nuclear chemistry. As a Japanese American with extensive knowledge of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki attacks, I had been dreading this topic. However, my chemistry teacher, also Asian American, although not Japanese, handled it with thoughtfulness and sensitivity, including a lesson on the biological and social impacts of the bombings. His approach demonstrated how educators can address difficult historical issues thoughtfully, creating a space where all students feel acknowledged and understood.

         My experiences in the New York State public school system have inspired me to actively advocate for and participate in building inclusive AANHPI histories and perspectives. Last school year, I joined the Youth Action Board to contribute to this cause and connect with fellow AANHPI youth and allies who share this commitment. Through the community we’ve built, I’ve met remarkable peers and mentors, including role models like Shreya and Diana. Their support has been crucial to my research on the Chinese-Latino diaspora and has empowered me to become a changemaker in my community. Shreya and Diana’s guidance has been instrumental in my growth and efforts, and I am particularly appreciative of the AANHPI adults and college students who facilitate the Youth Action Board. Their presence is especially important given the underrepresentation of AANHPI people in academia. Seeing those who have walked in my shoes support younger generations in exploring their identities is deeply encouraging. As the AANHPI community continues to grow in New York State and across the country, stereotypes that undermine our strength are becoming increasingly unsustainable. An inclusive curriculum is key to addressing harmful perceptions and fostering a more accurate historical narrative. Meaningful change is achievable, and advocating for this representation starts within our community, led by AANHPI youth like the members of the Youth Action Board.

         One of the most rewarding aspects of being on the Youth Action Board has been the opportunity to center my own living and breathing history into our work while also learning from my peers as we build a deeper understanding of our shared histories. For example, my friend and coworker Sor focused her project on the Cambodian-American diaspora displaced by the Khmer Rouge. She highlighted the resilience of Cambodian-American Ted Ngoy, a refugee who pioneered donut shops with pink boxes—a now-recognized symbol of refugee-owned businesses in California. This reminded me of my own family history and the broader Asian American experience of establishing family-owned restaurants as a means of economic mobility. Similarly,

         during the Youth Action Board’s lesson presentations in June, I was pleasantly surprised to learn about the history of Corky Lee’s photography in a peer’s lesson. I had previously used his documentation as primary sources for a paper on the 1982 Chinatown Garment Workers’ Strike that I wrote this past spring, and it was touching to see him recognized for his role in local history. Helping our future leaders grow into compassionate, informed, and kind individuals begins with how and what we teach them. Most importantly, fostering the growth of spaces like the Youth Action Board is part of a crucial step in addressing educational gaps and focusing on the voices of those whose living, breathing histories need to be highlighted—namely, the youth.

         As I reflect on the impact we hope the Localized History project will have, I think of this past April when I took two of my closest friends—one a Guatemalan and Mexican Californian visiting from out of town, and the other a fellow Queens native and Thai-American—to a local dim sum place I grew up going to. As we finished our meal and debated how to split the check, as teenagers do, we turned to the restaurant’s customary cut-up oranges and fortune cookies. When I opened my fortune cookie, I received a message that has stayed with me ever since; “education is not filling a bucket, but lighting a fire.” To the person reading this, no matter who you are or where you call home, I hope you will find our Localized Histories to be a spark for that fire. Kindled by AANHPI New York State public school students, we hope to inspire you to explore, understand, and appreciate AANHPI history’s place in K-12 curricula. After all, just as a spark can light a small candle, it can also ignite a large bonfire that brings people together and illuminates their stories.

CONCLUSION 

The five of us hope the Youth Action Board will continue to grow and reach new AANHPI students across New York State. Moreover, we understand that the fight for inclusive curricula does not just stop when the AANHPI community gains it, but when all marginalized peoples do. As our Youth Action Boards and the Localized Histories Project expands further this year throughout New York State, please follow our journey on Instagram (@LocalizedHistory).

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Notes

¹ OCR Celebrates Asian American, Native Hawaiian, and Pacific Islander Heritage Month | HHS.gov.

² Asian American, Native Hawaiian and Pacific Islander Heritage Month: May 2024 | Census.gov.

³ Asian American Native Hawaiian Pacific Islander | NAMI.org

⁴ States Are Mandating Asian American Studies. What Should the Curriculum Look Like?| EdWeek.org.

⁵ Not just oppression: Lessons from one state on how schools can get Asian American history right | Chalkbeat.org.